And that’s what Boro did against Reading. They showed nerves of steel and the zealous belief in the cause that wins wars. And wins titles.

And the supporters stayed with them all the way. Admittedly not without flinching and fretting in a frustrating finale as it seemed Boro would squander a golden opportunity to seize the summit and the title initiative.

It wasn’t a display for the faint hearted. Boro nerves were stretched to breaking point. Again. Stomachs were knotted. Again. Bodies and minds were wracked by a combination of fear, adrenaline and nausea. Again. That’s this season all over.

And as the clock ran down, and the pressure rose the was a growing sense of hysteria mounted and threatened to explode the Riverside.

Especially when Vydra got free into the box on the break and look set to hammer a ‘typical Boro’ nail to the heart.

On such moments do seasons revolve.

The soundtrack in the final frantic phase was high pitched yelping and nervous squealing then Adam Forshaw slammed in the winner – possibly the most beautiful goal ever scored – and there was a sonic boom as the emotional dam burst and tear-flecked relief flooded freely.

And then that roar was echoed by the sharp crack of hearts breaking in Burnley and Brighton.

Adam Forshaw's last minute goal sparks mass celebrations

Boro have put down a massive marker. They can handle the pressure. They have the steel and the spirit to win this.

And they showed that whatever the others can do they can match.

Brighton grabbed a late winner at Forest 24 hours before to plunder precious points and close in.

Boro responded with a passionate and determined display, dug deeper and left it later but still delivered to take a more emphatic step forward.

The scene was set for a dramatic and cinematic night as the fog rolled in, Teesside was wearing its spring finery, a thick murky shroud of mist.

On the approach the stadium there was some confusion as none of the usual landmarks were visible: no Transporter, no Temenos, no ship.... no stadium until it loomed up as you reached the Ayresome Gates.

It wasn’t anywhere near the fog-horn inducing precipitation levels of the infamous Manchester City League Cup pea-souper in 1991 or Huddersfield two years ago on kick-off but it was enough to give the ground an eerie feel. As if we weren’t all feeling B-movie sinister shivers of dread already.

And as the game wore on ever more wispy strands drifted in from the river and crept over the East Stand roof and by half time it was quite hard to see the far side and the meagre huddled group of 148 travelling fans.

Boro were fine. They had Grant Leadbitter’s laser stare and Adam Clayton’s psychic spatial SatNav to pick their way forward while Emilio Nuse was lighting up the final third.

Emilio Nsue and Albert Adomah celebrate

Stewart Downing had a bright game too, with some lively movement and deft distribution after slowly feeling his way into a central role.

But the beacon for Boro was the performance of George Friend and Albert Adomah, both battling as if their first born were being held hostage.

The pair were studies in perpetual motion and instrumental in almost everything creative that Boro did in a blistering first half - and at the heart of the hand-to-hand fighting as the gruelling game wore on.

It was the same all over the pitch. And in the stands, Everyone believing and battling for the cause. A team and town united.